Part 1: The Very Beginning

(This is the first installment of a six-part memoir series from my rookie year in real estate.)

It was January 1999 when my then-husband suggested I get my real estate license because I loved architecture.

Now, twenty-five years later, I realize how little the business of real estate actually has to do with brick-and-mortar — and how fundamentally it is about people.

It’s about how people decide a house is the one. The excitement and anticipation of homeownership. The compromises they navigate with their partners. And how the inevitable hiccups along the way — and how they handle them — reveal who they are at their core.

Back then, I joined a real estate agency in Summit, New Jersey. I chose it because I adored the manager, Betty*—who reminded me of the mom of a childhood friend. Betty was kind and warm, with the air of a former schoolteacher — the kind who could correct your grammar and comfort you in the same breath.  Betty prized education and hard work above all else.

I’d like to say I entered the business as a seasoned businesswoman who knew the ropes, but truthfully, I was a young mother with little business experience. My college major, Spanish Languages and Literature, had yet to reveal any practical applications in the world of sales contracts and lockboxes.

Every Tuesday and Thursday morning, the highlight of my work week was “Caravan.”

Picture this: five to nine towns, each with five or six open houses. A whirlwind tour — a race against the clock to see twenty-five, maybe thirty homes in just three hours.

As a complete nerd, I loved poring over the printed open house list beforehand, highlighter in hand, strategizing my “must sees.” The office buzzed with camaraderie, competition, and curiosity. Our designated driver, Sally B.*, was a seasoned agent who glided through her territory like a general commanding her troops.

We’d pull up to a property, dash inside, and absorb it all — the light, the layout, the quirks. From my perch in the back seat of Sally B.’s luxury sedan, I’d listen closely as she and her colleague up front discussed pricing, inventory, and clients. I tried not to miss a single word.

That ritual, that rhythm, is long gone now. Agents today rarely preview homes in person; technology has gotten so good that virtual tours and high-definition photos often replace the first showing entirely- which in some ways feel like a huge loss to both the agents and the consumers they serve.   

But back then? It was everything. It was how we learned the market, how we connected, how we built our instincts. 

It was exhausting — and exhilarating.

Slowly, I began to understand the nuances of pricing between towns. Why one three-bedroom home was listed for $500,000 while another for $1.5 million.  And what “location, location, location” really meant in practice.

And as I listened to other agents discuss their buyers and sellers, I couldn’t help but daydream about the day when I would have a client of my own.

Looking back now, after helping hundreds of buyers and sellers achieve their goals, I see how much the business has changed — the pace, the technology, the expectations.

But what’s stayed the same are the people. Their dreams. Their motivations. Their hopes for something better for themselves and their families. The trials that come with a move predicated by loss.

Through all the market cycles — the booms, the busts, the changes in affordability, the interest-rate rollercoasters — one constant remains: real estate is, and always will be, about people.

*Names changed to protect the innocent.

➡️ Next: My Hairdresser Cuts to the Chase